


Hold My Hand

by wiski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Needs a Hug, Hugs, M/M, Plotless, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiski/pseuds/wiski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hug on an escalator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I saw these two dudes cuddling on the escalator at the exit of the Metro on my way home one day a couple weeks ago and have wanted a Sterek escalator!cuddle ever since.

Derek has Stiles by the forearm and is half dragging him toward the escalator for the floor below. His face is carefully blank, but his shoulders are tense, and his movement is stilted, _wrong_ ; his grip just above Stiles’s wrist is white-knuckled and almost too tight, verging on painful.

Stiles doesn’t comment on the somewhat rough handling and just goes with it, well aware that this is Derek holding back, careful as always around Stiles and his fragile human bones. He knows that Derek exercised meticulous control over his werewolf strength and would never cause Stiles any actual harm, even in his current state of distress. Stiles just follows, calm and quiet, body pliant, fingers light on the back of Derek’s hand now fisted in his shirtfront.

Derek pulls Stiles after him onto the escalator and manhandles him into position on the step behind Derek. He then crowds into Stiles, butting his head into Stiles’s torso, now at his face-level, and hides his face in the folds of the loose plaid shirt Stiles is wearing.

Stiles can feel Derek’s breath warming his stomach through his layers. Derek’s breathing is controlled, but Stiles can hear the slightly ragged edge to it. In this moment, Derek is like a wounded animal, or, no, he’s more like a child seeking comfort. It’s upsetting; disconcerting.

Stiles places the fingers of his right hand—Derek is still holding onto his left, though at least he’s loosened his death grip somewhat—on the back of Derek’s skull, his palm resting just behind Derek’s ear. He scritches lightly through the soft hairs under his fingertips, and his thumb is rubbing soothing circles on the side of Derek’s neck, right behind the hinge of his jaw. Derek makes a soft, hurt sound and burrows further into Stiles’s body.

Stiles’s heart constricts painfully in his chest and he brings up their joined hands up to cup a stubbled cheek, then wraps his free arm around Derek’s neck, rests his chin on the top of Derek’s head, and just curls himself protectively around Derek, despite the awkward positions of their bodies. He murmurs quiet, nonsensical words, things like, “it’s okay,” and, “shhh, I’m here,” and, “the hunters are gone now,” and presses kisses into Derek’s dark hair.

Derek quiets in his arms after a little while, but the stupid escalator jars them out of their peaceful moment. Derek stumbles a little when they reach the bottom, and his expression is still a little lost and dazed as their faces are slowly brought back to the same level.

Stiles doesn’t comment. Instead he leans in, their foreheads bumping gently, and rubs the tips of their noses together in an Eskimo kiss.

They just breathe together for a second, then Stiles straightens a little, glances around them and feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ice cream?” he says, voice low and a just little rough.

Derek lowers his eyes and nods almost imperceptibly. His shoulders lose some of their tension as Stiles tugs on their still connected hands to lead him toward the ice cream shop around the corner.

 

(Stiles keeps his left hand on Derek’s thigh under the table the whole time while they share an enormous ice cream sundae, and feels Derek relax, little by little, under his touch.)

(They make out by the Camaro, Derek pushing Stiles up against the passenger side door and making more desperate noises. It’s a different kind of desperation though. Stiles approves, very much.)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this during lunchbreak today. I had all of an hour of free time, so please forgive me if this seems a little rushed. Work has been insanely busy these past few weeks, and this is the only thing I managed to finish in _weeks_. ): Maybe I'll try my luck again at lunch tomorrow.
> 
> Much love and gratitude to emptyword, who is always there to hold my hand, even though we're 12 timezones apart now. I miss you bb.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
